


Fool Me At All, Shame On Me

by deathlybijoumme



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Based on nebou's clone theory, Canon Divergence, Clones, Haven't planned this out all the way, Mentioned Past Sexual Abuse, Other, Tw for poisoning in chapter 3, canonverse, don't worry that's not for a few chapters, greek mythological references, tw for gore in chapter 2, tw for physical violence in chapter 3, tw for self harm in chapter 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 20:46:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathlybijoumme/pseuds/deathlybijoumme
Summary: The current Hephaestus mission isn't the first time Hilbert's seen that chair.





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander Hilbert is dead, the final report from Warren reads. It had come a few days after they had gotten the readouts from the Hermes. There are other lost assets noted as well, but of all of them, that one is the least surprising, and the easiest to fix. Oh well. That's no great loss, Mr. Cutter thinks as he leans back in his chair. The man's died, what, 5 times now?

He hits a button on his desk. “James? Would you be a dear and prep Delta, series 6A for use? You'll find his files and the necessary brain scan update in your mail.” 

“I'll get right on it sir.” James’ voice crackles through the intercom. “Any particular orders for the cut and paste in addendum to the usual?”

“Increase his compliance by a factor of 0.3. That should fix the problems we ran into this time.” Mr. Cutter sipped his coffee. Macchiato. Not what he ordered. He’d have to find the idiot responsible for that, and the intern who delivered it, then kill both of them. 

James sighs. “Any specific memories in mind for that, sir?”

“The usual. Oh! Don't make him think that the previous mission is over this time. I have plans. Speaking of which, you have a week and a half to get it done.”

“A week and a half?! Sir, I have the highest respect for you and your planning skills, but-”

“Oh, James, now that makes it sound like you don't. You'll get paid overtime, don't worry.” Mr. Cutter's smile was far too sharply audible for comfort. 

James sighed and muttered. “I'll requisition a cot from the private hospital.” He got out of his chair, holding the button down for a few more seconds. “Will that be all sir?”

“That's the spirit, Jamie!” Mr. Cutter said, pumping his fist in the air. “And yes, that will be all. Good day.”

James sighed and left his desk. He had a lot of work to do. Body first, that always took the longest so it would be better to get started as soon as he could. 

He swung by the mail room first, grabbing the dolley of boxes that had just been put there before making his way down to sub level room C5-E. He opened the file on top that held the basic information and began to read it. 

James muttered to himself aloud as he read. “Cut his hair short- oh that's new. The cut looks ugly as hell though, I'll have to fix it up a little… I wonder if I can get away with just cutting almost all of it off. Burn scar in his ankle, a few small ones on his hands from glass… other than blowing up, he actually didn't damage himself too badly this time.”

He kicked open the door and pushed the dolley inside. He really hated this room. It was all white and pale gray, with too bright lights overhead. But it was clean, and the light was good for detailed work like this.

James grabbed the gurney and walked up to one of the large metal cyro pods that lined the long wall of the room and tapped out a short passcode out on the first pin pad. The pod slowly opened and James gently lowered the naked, lifeless body down onto the gurney and pushed it to the middle of the room. 

James left it there and and searched through the drawers on the other side of the room, carefully selecting his materials and tools. He used his shirt as a basket for a little as he pulled the side tray out of the gurney and set them out neatly. James picked up a needle filled with tissue alterant and began to work on creating the tiny scars on Delta’s hands. The marks started to appear quickly, but those were tiny. The larger one, on his ankle, would take a few days to fully form, and a half hour to properly inject the alterant. 

James pulled up a photo of the scar from Delta’s memories and got to work, first gently outlining it, then filling it in. He went over a few spots a little more for puffiness, and pressed a small tool into another spot for a depression. 

A button press, and the gurney became a chair. James pulled three rectangles of metal from the back of the chair, picked up his scissors, and began to cut his hair. James grabbed the locks of hair as he cut them and put them in the biomatter recycling. He then put his scissors down and turned Delta’s head this way and that, thinking of a way to subtly make the current hack job look less horrifying. 

James finally settled for trimming the hair so that it was slightly shorter in the front, and trying to part his hair to the left and slightly back before giving up. James laid the chair’s back down so that it was a gurney again, and started plugging the large data cells that were Alexander Hilbert's memory updates into the computer kept in that room. Time to play ‘Copy and Paste’. 

\-----

A very long amount of time later, James had edited the memories down to the necessary addition, and had neatly webbed it to Selberg’s version. He yawned. It would be a long night of constantly checking Delta’s scar development to know when to inject the alterant freeze. But first, he needed to set up for his few hours of rest.

He left the room, wandering leisurely through the near deserted hallways towards the private hospital. The hallways were mostly dark, but it wasn't a major problem for him, as the moon was bright and full that night. When he got to the hospital, no one so much as looked in his direction, all too busy with their work. He grabbed a cot and wheeled it out, retracing his steps through the large complex that was Canaveral. 

James set up the cot next to the computer, and set a timer for 2 hours. He covered Delta with a sheet, and promptly stripped down to his underclothes and laid down to sleep.

A few hours later, he was up again and injected the alterant freeze into the new scars on Delta’s hands. The scar on his ankle was starting to become shiny, but definitely wasn't anywhere near done yet. James hummed to himself in sleep deprived happiness as he did a little more work on his code. When he'd made a few adjustments to some of Volodin’s memory series, he set his timer again, and went to sleep again. And so the night went, in a repeating cycle of sleep and work.

Two days and 3 dozen cups of coffee later, Delta’s body was done. James placed him back in cyro for the next few days as he fervently worked on his code, amplifying fears and self hatred, and making happy memories fainter. He didn't like this part- it required him to experience the memory himself to make sure it hit the right parameters. He didn't sleep at all when he focused on those, preferring to just get it over with and not tempt his subconscious. 

In the end, he had it done in a week. He buzzed Mr. Cutter over the intercom immediately, a lack of sleep weighing down his voice. “He's near ready, sir. I just got 6A out of cyro to warm him up. If you come by at about 3, he'll be conscious and ready for debrief.”

“Excellent. I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Jamie.” Mr. Cutter’s voice at that moment openly makes James shiver. “I'll be by at 2:30, you can see Sarah Lee about clothes for him. She'll know what to give you.”

“Noted.” James sighed slightly as he hung up. He didn't care for Sarah… she liked holding the fact that she was technically a higher clearance than he was over his head. He'd have to do something about her. He decided to go get those clothes while Delta’s body warmed, not wanting to get caught not working. Sarah sneered at him as he drew close to her desk.

“Oh, if it isn't the glorified beautician.” she said, smiling coldly. “Did you come here for makeup tips?”

“No, you know why I'm here.” James was above talking rudely about someone to their face. But not above putting the receipt for Mr. Cutter's third bungled coffee order in her personal waste paper basket. It might not do much, but he'd still enjoy watching her squirm if they questioned her about it. 

Sarah sighed, shook her hair out of her face and handed him a paper wrapped parcel. “Here. I'm getting tired of having to replicate that locket and ring set, you know.”

“Make a mold of it then.” James snapped at her.

Sarah made a flustered, angry noise. “A mold?? That wouldn't be a replica worth its weight in shit, honey. Get the hell out of my sight.” 

James walked off briskly as Sarah muttered to herself darkly. Threat aside, It had been soo worth it to see her get all pissed like that. Especially because he got to leave an incriminating sticky note in her desk from a certain idiotic intern. He laughed to himself. So, so worth it.

When he got back, Delta was about room temperature. James made quick work of the clothes, yanking on the binder and shirt being much easier now that Delta’s hair was about chin length. 

James flipped Delta’s body over, and hiked up his shirt, exposing the few metal vertebrae that contained the equipment necessary to put the software in Delta’s body. He unwound the thick cord from its coil attached to the computer desk, and set about plugging Delta in. The second his body was fully connected, James took a step back and Delta’s body convulsed from a sudden electrical input that connected his nerves to the rest of him fully. James hit “Run” on the tiny pop up that appeared about 5 seconds later, and the software started download. 

He sat down on his cot and finished his last two coffees. The download finished shortly after, and he unplugged Delta. James then grabbed Delta by the waist and dragged him into swivel chair he'd been sitting at, and pushed him out the door into an adjoining room where all of his debriefings happened. As a final touch, he secured Delta’s golden locket and ring around his neck. 

James settled against the wall, looking casual and waiting for Delta to wake, or Mr. Cutter to arrive, whichever happened first. 

As it turned out, Mr. Cutter arrived first. He sauntered in slowly, all grace and long, elegant limbs. He was dressed in a crisp dark green suit with a pastel yellow pocket square and tie, and shoes were practically mirrored from polish. Behind him, rolling her eyes at his extravagance, came Dr. Pryce, and the second he saw her, James felt his soul leave his body and hide. 

“Jamie!” Mr. Cutter’s near permanent smile widened almost grotesquely. “I see everything’s in order.” 

“Yes, sir. I had a bit of trouble from Sarah, but everything else went off without any problems. She was really short with me for some reason- even tried to hand me the wrong package.” James frowned, feigning concern. “I'm worried sir, I don't think she's been sleeping.”

“Well, I'll have someone have a word with her.” Mr. Cutter brushed the line of conversation off quickly. “Will Delta be terribly long?”

“No sir, he should-” James was cut off by a faint groan. “Never mind, he's up.”

Delta opened his eyes slowly, and the glassyness in them betrayed the fact that he wasn't settled into this body yet. A perfect time to talk to him without him truly remembering anything they didn't want. 

“Hello, Delta.” Mr. Cutter grinned broadly and Delta’s body immediately stiffened with fear at the sound of his voice. “You look well.”

Delta looked in his direction slowly, his eyes wide. “M-Mr. Cutter. How-”

“You don't need to worry about that just yet. The short story is, you were knocked unconscious during your attempted coup and while on the Uriania, an incident happened and you and the room you were in were jettisoned into space. You had provisions, and similarly to Eiffel, figured your best bet would be to get to the Hermes. You made it, and now you're on earth. Do you understand?”

Dr. Pryce typed out a few things on her tablet and Delta nodded jerkily, his mind accepting that as truth against his will. “I understand.”

“Good. Now, your new name is Orpheus Ganymede Kapitsa, and you're going to help us plan a reconnaissance mission as we have lost contact with your crew. Do you understand?”

Again, a few lines of code, and a jerky, unwilling nod.

“Good. Dr. Pryce, put him in sleep mode now.” 

Dr. Pryce sighed, typed, and Orpheus’s eyes closed. “I don't understand why you insist on making it afraid instead of simply making it compliant. Or why you act like it's a person.”

Mr. Cutter frowned. “Well first of all, Miranda, it's fun. Second of all, he's a valuable asset to have should times arise such as now, when we need to have someone who can think, but won't turn on us.” He folded his arms and tapped his foot. “In his case, fear works far better than telling him what to do, and you'd know this if you ever read anything other than a research paper.”

Dr. Pryce waved a hand at him. “I know, I know. Kicked Russian police ass for 5 years as a teenager until they ambushed him and kicked his ass. Despises authority to the point of almost appearing to like it, blah blah blah.”

“Like I said, fear works better.” Mr. Cutter let out a deep breath. “James, you can hand him off to Maurice in Department 7 now. Please return to your usual duties.” 

“I'll get in that sir.” As James pushed Orpheus out of the room, he couldn't help the strange feeling of dread that crept over him. It was probably just Pryce’s eyes. Yeah. Just her creepy eyes. That was it.

Sarah didn't come back to work after her lunch break.


	2. Mourning

Eiffel paces the hallway outside his room, unable to sleep. He said his words for Hilbert at the funeral but… they weren't enough. He knew they weren't enough, that they weren't even good, but he didn't know what else to do, with the exception of something very gross.

Finally he sighs and makes his way to the observation deck.

“Jacobi.” he stops in the doorway. “I have a question.”

“Don't care.” Jacobi shuffled the deck of cards that he'd apparently had shoved in his boot. Kepler was sleeping on the floor, and Jacobi had been amusing himself by throwing cards at him, evidenced by the scattered cards on the floor around him.

“Did the room blow up completely?”

Jacobi looked at him, incredulous and bored. “That's not very specific. Which room.”

“ **The** room. The one with the chair.”

“The one where the station punching bag went Chernobyl?” Jacobi shrugged and started paying attention to his deck again. “Probably not.” He picked a card out of his deck and threw it at Kepler’s eye.

“Probably not?” Eiffel asked.

“Yeah. Probably not.” Jacobi looked at him again. “You done bothering me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eiffel stepped back and closed the door loudly. He sighed quietly and left to get to the supply closet.

“Eiffe-el?” Hera asked as he rummaged through it for gloves and a sheet. “W-what are you-u doing?”

“Cleaning.” Eiffel pulled on a pair of yellow rubber gloves, and continued rummaging for a sheet. He found one and yanked it out of the closet by one corner, causing it to shove a bunch of things out of place and partially unfold. He sighed heavily.

There was a small silence as Eiffel shoved things back in place in the closet.

“Be care-eful.” Hera finally said quietly.

Eiffel smiled faintly at that. “I will be.” And with that, he gets up, finds another body bag, and heads down to engineering. It's cold, and loud, and completely empty. He used to think of it as like the heart of the station, but now it only feels like the antechamber to a tomb.

Eiffel opens the Door, and everything is deathly quiet. He didn't expect anything else really, but it was a shocking contrast to pretty much every other part of the station, especially after coming through engineering. Another shocking contrast was the black scorch marks all over the room. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before stepping inside.

It smelled like burnt meat and dried blood. He took in a breath through his mouth to keep from vomiting. Slowly, he opened his eyes. By the left wall of the room, not quite 4 feet away from him, lay a small, blackened corpse.

He fought the urge to retch again and gently set the body bag down. He unzipped it, and laid the white sheet inside it. Eiffel shuffled the bag so that it was close to the body, and gently lifted it into the sheet and bag, careful not to touch it more than necessary. He stared for a bit at the wall, steeling himself to look at the body of someone who had once been close to him, if only briefly.

He looked. A long, hard look. The sight before him was indescribable, unless one had ever seen something like it themselves. There was something about trying to simply say what it looked like that somehow managed to not quite tell you what it was like to see.

Eiffel knelt by the body, feeling for something he knew would be there, and quickly pulled it off as soon as he found it. Hilbert's locket and ring. They looked so small and innocent in Eiffel's hand. A few streaks of black on them, but they hadn't melted or quite deformed in the explosion. He would use his dog tags instead, but Hilbert never wore them so it wasn't the same. He sighed and hung his head, pulling the sheet over Hilbert's face and zipping up the bag.

“I feel like I should say something.” he muttered softly. “But I know it won't be the right words. I know it still won't be enough.” He wiped at his face, and the tears starting to fall. He laughed. “I want to say something that fixes it all, you know? Turns back the clock and fixes all our mistakes and tragedies. Makes me not an alcoholic, or just makes me crash before I got Ann. Makes Minkowski and Lovelace get a job literally anywhere else. Makes the people who made Hera less cruel.” He sighed heavily. “Makes your family not die, or makes Decima work before anyone dies from that. But that's the problem isn't it?” Eiffel sits. “All I have are fucking words. No action, no common sense, no tactical skills. Nothing that could've saved you, or kept Lovelace from getting shot. I should've kept my mouth shut, then we’d all be on our way home.” he laughed again, hanging his head. “Except for them, but hey, the body count would be about the same.”

Eiffel tilts his head back and side eyes the body bag. “This is the part where you start moving ominously and reveal you had been testing Decima on yourself after Kepler shut it down, you know.”

Not even a twitch. Eiffel looks at the locket and ring again. After a few moments of consideration, he unclasps his dog tags and slides them on the chain with them, then clasps it back.

“I'm not going to forget you. I'll write down what I know, and I'll make sure people know. I'll find out what Cutter did that made you so damn scared of him, and I'll make sure he'll never be able to hide from it.” He stands and hefts the body bag up in his arms, bridal style. The walk to the nearest airlock is long, but he manages. He lays Hilbert down on the floor in the chamber and steps out. Button press, close the inner door. Another button, and the outer door opens, yanking Hilbert's body out into space unceremoniously.

Eiffel stands there for awhile before going to bed. He can sleep now. 


	3. Now I'm Stricken, Now I'm Stung

When Orpheus opens his eyes again, he isn't on earth. Then he blinks. Of course he isn't on earth. He hasn't seen earth in around five years. He sits up, stretching his strangely sore body, then freezes. This isn't his bed, there's no curtain. This isn't any of the beds on the Hephaestus or the Urania, this isn't a standard issue blanket. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and thinks hard. What happened...?

The mutiny failed. There was… gas, Hera had deployed halothane gas on them. Maxwell hadn't been stopped. They were on the Urania. Kepler shot Lovelace, tortured all of them. Then there was an accident, and screaming, and being alone. Trapped in a large box. Duct tape, engineering, trying again and again. And after that…

Blank.

With shaking hands, he pulls back the thick, soft quilt and slides out of bed. The walls and ceiling and floor around him are mirrors, reflecting everything in the room over and over and over. He stares at one of his many many versions and reflections in one. His features are beaten, but he doesn't see anything too horrible- no new healing scars, no bleeding. Just a lot of bruises and a cut over his cheek. The only thing truly missing is a lot of the length of his hair, but that's not news. He rubs the back of his neck, tracing the scar there with his fingertips in nervous habit.

After a few minutes, he takes a closer look around the room. Bed, dresser, table. Not much else. He's in a set of plain white clothes, a bit too big, no pockets, a little translucent. He sighed and started to feel at the walls around him for a door. The second his hand smudges the polished surface however, one opens behind him and he freezes. He doesn't need to turn to see who it is, thanks to the mirrors. Mr. Marcus Cutter, in the horrible, smiling, flesh.

“Orpheus!” He spreads his arms almost as if expecting a hug. “It's nice to see you awake.”

Orpheus knows that's his name, but he doesn't quite remember learning his new alias. He turns slowly and puts his back to the wall, his heart beating uncontrollably fast from fear. “Mr. Cutter. I wasn't expecting-”

“Oh, don't be silly, Orphie. Of course I'm here, the entire reason you're here right now and not in a holding cell is because I need your help with something.” Mr. Cutter easily walks over to the room towards him and grabs his chin, forcing his gaze up. “I trust you're liking your accommodations? Maybe you'd like some coffee, hm?”

“No… thank you, sir.” Everything after the no feels like it was ripped out of his throat. A little joke Mr. Cutter likes to make, that thing with coffee... “What is it you need my help with?”

“Your crew members have been giving us a lot of trouble. We need you to make sure they don't make more trouble while we visit them so I can complete a special project of mine.” Mr. Cutter's smile widens impossibly. “After which, of course, we can discuss the Decima project.”

Orpheus feels very confused for a second, then realizes. “Of course, sir.” He doesn't know that he heard the message the chair gave him, does he? Cutter doesn't know that he knows he doesn't care about Decima anymore.

“You understand, I had to put it on hold to prevent anyone from doing anything stupid because of it.” Mr. Cutter let go of Orpheus's chin and wrapped an arm around his waist instead, leading him out the door.

“Naturally.” He had to come up with a plan. Whatever Cutter wanted with what was left of his crew, it couldn’t be good, and he wasn’t about to let them feel the same wrath that he had from the monster he was currently walking next to.

“Well, of you understand, then let's get some food in you then you can see Doctor Pryce about those injuries.” Mr. Cutter smiled at him, driving a finger into his bruised cheekbone.

Orpheus froze at that. “Dr. Pryce?”

“Yes, Dr. Pryce. She's a medical doctor too, remember, silly?”

Orpheus wanted to hide in an air vent and never come out. “Yes, I remember.” If Dr. Pryce was truly here, then there was no point in planning. She was Maxwell, but the manipulation and knowledge of AI multiplied by ten, and an even more unpleasant personality towards those she deemed expendable. And Pryce's definition of “expendable” including pretty much everything but herself.

“Well, then it shouldn't surprise you so much. What kind of man would I be if I didn't bring two doctors with me into deep space?”

A dead man, Orpheus thought murderously. A very very dead man. “Underprepared one.”

“Exactly!” Mr. Cutter smiled, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen. “Now, I'm sure you're starving, so why don't we get something to eat and have a little talk before your check up, hm?”

Mr. Cutter pulled him in through the kitchen door and sat him down with a hard thud, making he wince at the way it jarred his lower spine. Mr. Cutter then took a seat and gestured to the plate sitting in the table between the two of them. Said plate was laden with various pastries, some that Orpheus recognized and some that he had seen before but never eaten. There was also a cup of tea in front of him, rose chai made the way he always took it, still slightly warm.

Mr. Cutter gestured at the plate after they had sat in still silence for awhile. “Eat.”

Orpheus hesitantly reached out and grabbed a kind of sad looking cookie. He looked at the baklava that was also on the plate mournfully as he did, but he didn’t trust any food he liked around Mr. Cutter. He ate it cautious and slow, the hair on his body standing up as some deeply buried instinct warned him of Mr. Cutter’s teeth, the way it always did when they came face to face after a long stretch of time. And of course, after that prickle, then would come the doubt. That maybe he wasn’t that bad, that maybe he was exaggerating and making it worse in his own echochamber of a head.

He finished the cookie with that last, unpleasant thought. It had a disgusting, too sweet flavor, like someone had dumped half a bag of sugar in one cookie, and a bitter undercurrent. The bitterness was mostly from the icing, which tasted almost rotten. He must’ve made a face, because Mr. Cutter started laughing at him.

“Never had cuccidati cookies before?” He asked, his voice playful.

Orpheus made a face. “No.” He was going to remember that name to avoid them in the future. He sat back in his chair, not wanting to touch another cookie. “You said we needed to talk.”

“Ah, yes to the point then.” Mr. Cutter folded his hands and rested his chin on them. “Well you see, Orpheus, you’ve caused quite a mess. You failed to neutralize the crew when you found out about the conditions outlined in your briefing, in favor of saving your pet project in the form of a one Douglas “the F stands for ‘I’m a fucking idiot’” Eiffel, which, might I add, is the reason we had our data compromised and you were captured.”

Orpheus felt himself and his heart sink. Mr. Cutter continued, leaning over the table. “Then, of course, you willingly gave out information like it was candy and failed to convince them to let you do check ups on Douglas “the F stands for ‘I’m a fucking idiot’” Eiffel, almost resulting in his death and the 4th horrific failure that ended in death in the Decima project from you-”

“4th?” Orpheus interrupted, quite confused.

“Yes, remember Officer Fisher? You were quite fond of him, I recall.” Mr. Cutter was going from smiling to frowning, like a progression from a comedy to tragedy mask.

“Fisher’s death was caused by an unfortunate accident that-”

“That would’ve been prevented if you had gone over Dr. Fourier and Dr. Hui’s work.” Mr. Cutter put his hands down on the table and leaned all the way over to Orpheus. “Are you quite **done** interrupting me, Orpheus?”

Orpheus sank even further in his seat. “Yes.”

Mr. Cutter sat back down and Orpheus drank some of his tea to get rid of the bad taste and harshness in his mouth. “Good. Now, As I was saying, after this disaster, you then set off a bomb in the shuttle he was trapped in by failing to keep Lovelace stable as you performed surgery on her, resulting in two more near deaths. Then, after we so kindly used time and resources to save your crew, you attempted to kill our operatives- multiple times- and broke Clause 5.7 for all high clearance employees and let someone who we had faked the death of have contact with Earth.” He smoothed his shirt. “That’s 10 very big mistakes in only 3 years, Doctor.”

Orpheus took another sip of his tea. That bad taste just wouldn’t go away. “I…” he started, then closed his mouth and rubbed his tongue against his teeth. His mouth and throat felt a lot more scratchy suddenly. “To be quite fair-” he stopped at the look on Mr. Cutters face, and took a sip of tea to try to get rid of the taste again.

“Now, Orpheus, if you were a businessman and you had invested in such a person, what would that tell you?”

“That I’m bad at making investments.” Orpheus muttered.

“What was that?” Mr. Cutter asked, his hand raising like he was preparing to slap someone.

Orpheus swallowed and drank his tea again. “It would tell me to cut my losses.” That’s what the chair was for.

“Exactly. Now, despite this, I have given you one more chance, just one.” Mr. Cutter stood and stepped around the table to Orpheus, resting his hand in his thick, black waves of hair. “If you mess this up this time, I will kill you. Slowly. And I’m certain your crew would love a first row seat, provided they aren’t dead first.” His hand tightened in Orpheus’s hair, pulling his head back and making him bite back a whimper of pain. “Understood?”

“Yes sir.” Is what Orpheus should’ve said. It was what he wanted to say. But instead, he felt the back of his throat spasm. He started to gag and yet, Cutter’s hand just tightened its grip.

“Understood?” Orpheus continued gagging, wanting desperately for this to stop. The desire to scratch at his throat and mouth was as strong as ever. Mr. Cutter let go of his hair. “Do you understand me, Doctor?” Orpheus felt tears forming in his eyes from pain. Mr. Cutter slapped him, hard enough to make him fall out of his chair and for his glasses to skitter away from his face and across the floor. Orpheus wasn’t just gagging now, but dry heaving. What the hell was making this happen?

Orpheus weakly got to his hands and knees and began to vomit. And he just... kept vomiting. About a half second later, there was nothing else to vomit, but his body kept going through the motions, like it was trying to vomit his organs out too. He felt two hands grab him by the arms and drag him up to his feet, then start dragging him out of the kitchen. He couldn’t even make himself care, no matter what was about to happen, it very likely couldn’t be worse than this.

He realized that he was incorrect in that assumption when he saw Pryce’s face enter his blurry vision. He groaned pitifully and tried to curl up away from her, but someone he didn’t recognize held his legs down, strapping them into restraints. By now, the heaving had stopped, but he still felt like dying.

“Hold still.” Pryce told him, and that was the last thing he remembered before everything in his memory went cold.

The next thing he remembered, he woke up in that room again, glasses on his face and a plate of cuccidati cookies on a bedside table. He felt bile rise in his throat and tears prick his eyes at the sight of them. Without even thinking, he picked up the plate and threw it at the wall, shattering it. The wall, on the other hand, had barely a chip in it. He felt unreasonably violent and angry at that, and he got up out of bed.

His clothes were different and clean, but they wouldn’t be for long. He punched the wall, right were that chipping and tiny crack were. The crack grew. Another punch. More cracks. Again and again, he punched at that epicenter of cracks until it grew over half the wall, and he sank to the floor, his knuckles bloody. He wiped them on his shirt, which had a few small cuts in it from glass shards that flew with some of his harder punches.

He looked up at the wall. In the spiderweb of tiny mirrors, he saw himself a thousand times, in a thousand bits and pieces. He felt the tears from earlier start to fall again, and he rested his head against the mirrored surface. It was cold, and it soothed his skin. After a good, long while of letting himself let out what felt like several years of hiccuping sobs, he fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> www.quora.com/Health-How-long-does-it-take-for-Ipecac-Syrup-to-work


End file.
